


the one with aphrodisiac

by lejf



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bottom Sam, M/M, Marathon Sex, PWP, Sex Pollen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-21
Updated: 2019-08-21
Packaged: 2020-09-23 15:30:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20342431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lejf/pseuds/lejf
Summary: “Yeah, yeah. C’mon, Sam. You’re not the one with painful fucking blue balls. Blow me-”“Dean—““-or I’m gonnadie,” Dean finishes theatrically.Is he mocking how Sam panicked when Dean said he might be dying from phallic-snake aphrodisiac?Sam is suddenly pissed. He’s been holding back because he knows Dean in his right mind wouldn’t want this, but Dean’s being such an asshole right now that— fine. Sam’s gonna do it. And he’s gonna own it. And every time Dean gets into Baby, he’s going to remember Sam sucking him off. That’s his loss.





	the one with aphrodisiac

**Author's Note:**

> I've been going through my old docs and finishing things up. So hopefully some of my older longfics are gonna get finished, too, yeah? But in the meanwhile, take this.

“Um–” Sam goes, fumbling his guns and phone and knives everywhere and flat-out plunging his hands into Dean’s pockets, which, _hello_, okay, is kind of dangerously close to where Dean’s trying to undo his fly. “What did you save her number under?” Half of the contacts on Dean’s phone are _place_ names and _hair_ colours. Sam would be offended on their behalves if he wasn’t so busy being panicked on his own.

“I didn’t, shithead,” Dean grits out. His face is so red that any other time Sam would laugh. “Number’s still in my pocket.” Dean literally won’t take his hands off his thankfully still-covered dick because he’s just been bitten. 

Bitten by an aphrodisiac-injecting, phallic-looking snake. 

Of course, the snake is dead now, but–

Sam pushes his hand back into Dean’s jeans pocket where he can _feel_ the warmth of Dean’s thighs radiating against his skin, his hand pinned tight against Dean, and fumbles for a tiny slip of paper that he squints at and tries to push the numbers to. The cell rings, and rings, and he presses it really hard against his ear and tries to ignore the fact that Dean is panting now, that his hands have disappeared into his open fly and under his boxers where the cotton’s shifting because he’s jacking off to rid himself of the growing edge.

“Hi–”

“_Hi_!” Sam launches out almost explosively, because if he’s got to witness this for a moment longer he doesn’t even know what he’s going to do. But then the chipper girl’s voice keeps going.

“–this is Melissa! Unfortunately, I’m not available right now. Please leave your message after the tone.”

“Fuck it,” Dean says when he catches the expression on Sam’s face, “just get us back to the motel. I don’t wanna get dirt all over my dick.”

Sam grabs Dean bridal-style—or, more accurately, like he’s a massive dirt-scoop and shovelling Dean up—because if Dean’s arms aren’t cooperating, his legs definitely aren’t. He hurries along out of the forest towards where they’d parked the Impala and tries really, really hard not to look down where Dean might’ve actually pulled his underwear away so that he can get more leeway on his dick. “Jesus–” Sam says, when he stumbles on every root and fallen branch possible in his path. But that’d be because he isn’t looking down.

Maybe Sam’s really just insane, because he starts blabbering anything to take attention away from the fact that he’s currently holding his masturbating brother. “What do we— what—”

It really doesn’t help that Dean’s head has lolled back and that his hips are jerking and rolling into the air, searching for friction. “Ever heard of dying from blue balls?” he asks, grinning up at Sam, flushed high with sweat slicking his skin, and his eyes are bright and glistening.

“Dean!” _Dying?!_ “You’re _dying?_”

Oh, look at that wide jackass grin. “Might not die, but sure hurts like an absolute bitch, Sammy.”

Sam clutches him a little closer, protectively, and then gets smacked full in the face by a branch for his troubles just as the Impala comes into view. Dean laughs uproariously.

He sets Dean down carefully across the back seats before dumping all their gear into the trunk and flinging open the driver’s door to gun it, the Impala roaring out of that tiny dirt road as if knowing Dean’s got a clock over his head.

Dean keeps making _noises_ behind him. Little bitten-off moans. Groans, the slick sound of his hand working up and down. Sam shifts in his seat and presses down on the accelerator harder. His trousers are starting to feel tight. He squirms a little in the seat and is stupidly grateful of the fact that Dean’s too out of it to realise how hard Sam’s blushing. 

When they pull up at the motel way too long later, Sam opens the back door and says, looking out over the carpark, “Dean, you’re going to have to put your dick away.”

Dean’s eyes are kind of glassy, but at the sound of his name they clear, a little, long enough to focus on Sam. “Fuck,” he just says, eloquently, but Sam doesn’t hear the sound of a zipper, so he looks in. It’s his brother sprawled there, his legs wide apart and still slightly bowed, dick thick and red and peeking out over his fist where it’s leaking everywhere, air thick with sweat and desperation and the musky scent of sex. The sight shoots right through him. 

“Oh god,” Sam mutters, reeling back on his heels for a moment to gather his courage, because he’s going to need to get in there and put Dean’s cock away for him. There’s no way they’re walking through the lobby like that, with Dean jacking it still red to the roots of his hair. He leans into the car, body bracketed between Dean’s legs, his own erection like a big red flag of _look here I’m a pervert_ and it’s so uncomfortable against his jeans. He’s lucky that it’s dark out.

“Dean, a hand here, please,” Sam says, because he’s not going to actually put Dean’s dick away. That would mean Sam touching Dean’s dick. Sam’s hand actually wrapping around that soft but firm flesh. Just the thought of it sends a wave of arousal through him. Instead he’s doing the bane of teenage girls at proms everywhere: hoverhands. Hoverhands over Dean’s _dick_. “Dean?”

“Hey,” Dean pants. “How about you just leave me here? Pretty sure Baby helps me get off.”

That is just– _so_ wrong on so many levels that Sam doesn’t even know where to start. “What if people see you?!” 

“Couldn’t care less.”

“Don’t you need someone else to help you? Who are you gonna find? Dean?” He tries to tack on as many aggressive question marks to the end as possible. This whole time, Dean hasn’t stopped jacking it and Sam himself might be verging hysteria. 

They’ve defeated so much in the past. Demons, spirits, witches, werewolves, monsters from lore, everything from near to far. Now imagine if the infamous Winchester brothers were defeated by Dean’s raging libido. 

“I mean-“ Dean looks at him. His out-of-it grin turns into a smug one. “You’re here, aren’t you?”

Sam jerks back so violently that he slams his head on the top of the car. Immediately he winces, dropping back down, and that puts him at Dean’s crotch level. He can _hear_ the sound that Dean’s fist is making over his dick. It’s wet, and brings his mind back to so many covert night masturbation sessions where that sound was his bane. 

Dean laugh-wheezes. 

“You’re such a jerk,” Sam whines. 

“Yeah, yeah. C’mon, Sam. You’re not the one with _painful_ fucking blue balls. Blow me-”

“Dean—“

“-or I’m gonna _die_,” Dean finishes theatrically. 

Is he mocking how Sam panicked when Dean said he might be dying from phallic-snake aphrodisiac? 

Sam is suddenly pissed. He’s been holding back because he knows Dean in his right mind wouldn’t want this, but Dean’s being _such_ an asshole right now that— fine. Sam’s gonna do it. And he’s gonna own it. And every time Dean gets into Baby, he’s going to remember Sam sucking him off. That’s his loss. 

Sam grabs Dean’s dick. 

For a moment, Dean’s expression is one of perfect surprise. Sam is hard-pressed not to emulate him. Dean is so hot, velvet-soft — Sam can feel Dean’s _heartbeat_ — but then Sam is prying Dean’s hand away and leaning down. A blowjob has to be pretty simple, right? It’s not like you can fuck up sucking on something. 

Sam’s watched enough porn. He hopes it gives him experience by proxy. He fastens his mouth over the smooth head of Dean’s dick (Dean’s uncut, just like Sam is) and is immediately assaulted by the taste of musk and bitter-salt. It should be gross, but for some truly depraved reason, it turns him on. This is _Dean_ that Sam’s tasting. Pure Dean. Sam slides further down with enthusiasm, feeling the texture give way to skin that he slicks with his saliva, and loses himself for a moment just exploring Dean’s cock with his lips. It’s big enough that it feels like it’s invading him, pressing against his lips as it slides further in. Sam has to open his mouth wide. 

He glances up just to check up on Dean, and Dean is— Dean is watching him, perfectly enraptured, eyes gleaming in the dark. One of his hands buries itself into Sam’s hair like a reassuring weight. 

Truth to be told, they’re positioned pretty awkwardly. Sam is kneeling in the footwell, prepared to sprain his hip from having to tilt right. He tries to prompt Dean to turn around, and Dean gets the hint. He pulls Sam off — mouth weirdly empty without the presence of Dean’s cock in it — and turns so that he’s sitting in the chair properly and spreads his legs to either side of Sam’s shoulders. Then he leans over, grabs the still-open door that’s letting in the cold air, and slams it shut. 

It’s suddenly a lot more claustrophobic. There’s no wind and ambient sound now, no distractions, almost harrowing. But Sam has dedicated himself to this task. He’s going to see it through, no matter how depraved it is. 

So, like a good worker bee, Sam goes right back to it. He kitten-licks up and Dean’s shaft, mouths at Dean’s balls, and then swallows him down again. He tries all sorts of things that he thinks he’s seen or heard about. He tries pressing Dean against the side of his mouth and fucking his cheek. He tries running the head against the roof of his mouth. He tries rolling his tongue against underside of the head. He tries massaging Dean’s balls with his free hand. Sam pulls out all stops. 

Dean is one noisy motherfucker. He’s moaning like Sam’s some dick connoisseur, but it’s perfect, Sam loves it, loves that he knows Dean’s enjoying what Sam’s doing. Dean’s entire body is tensing and that’s when Sam knows his brother’s close to the edge. Sam hits a rapid pace, no longer alternating through a list of methods but just bobbing up and down on Dean’s dick, tilting his head as he does it — and _motherfucker_ it’s kind of tiring but he knows Dean’s really close — and then Dean comes down his throat. 

It takes Sam a little by surprise to feel the flex and pulse, spurt after spurt, so tangible and wet and straight into his mouth. Sam swallows it all down, knowing that’s a kink somewhere and hoping that it’s also Dean’s, and then milks Dean a little bit more gently, suckling and lapping the last of Dean’s come. 

When he pulls off, resting the head of Dean’s cock on his lower lip, the stare he gets is like he’s grown a third fucking arm. 

“What?” Sam says, pulling a face. “You wanted it, okay? Do you think we could get into the motel now?” 

“Uh, sure,” Dean says. His voice is rough and coarse. Probably because he’s just been moaning like a porn star. 

But Dean’s _still hard_. Oh, god. Sam doesn’t think his neck can handle another round. Shamelessly, he tucks Dean back into his underwear and with some cooperation from Dean, they button up his trousers without any further acknowledgement. 

Going through the lobby makes Sam feel strangely bashful, as though anyone can see that Sam just sucked his brother off in the back of their car. But there’s no way. There’s no evidence; Sam swallowed it all down, and the thought makes him blush even more furiously. 

When they get inside, Dean throws himself onto the nearest bed. 

“Dude, at least take off your shoes,” Sam says, untying his own. 

Dean does. He takes off everything. His boots go flying near Sam’s head (Sam curses him out), his jeans are shucked off, his jacket is tossed onto the table, his shirt gets relegated to the floor, and his briefs are somewhere on the carpet. 

In this time, Sam has unlaced his shoes and taken off one sock. Otherwise, he’s just kind of in awe. Dean’s already back to stripping his dick with a vengeance. 

“What?” Dean asks, very abrasively, when he sees Sam staring. “Look, the blowjob was nice, but apparently this needs a few more rounds to go.”

Sam’s neck and jaw aren’t going to survive. Maybe he could give Dean a hand job instead? “I can jack you off?” Sam offers. 

Dean gestures at what he’s currently doing and is resulting in no orgasm. Apparently jacking off isn’t on the menu. 

“Okay,” Sam says, and goes to his duffel where he fishes out half a tube of lube. He normally uses it to get off if he isn’t in the shower because he isn’t the leakiest of men. Okay. He can do this. He can take Dean’s formidable dick. It’s in the name of— well, he isn’t sure what sort of pretense they’re going off anymore. Dean needs someone to satisfy his cock and Sam’s the most convenient person around. If he happens to enjoy it a little too much, who’s going to complain? Dean? Sam can definitely out-mock him when they look over this retrospectively. 

He takes off his own jeans and underwear, the clinking of his belt disturbingly clear, pops the cap and squeezes it onto his fingers, and just sort of pushes them into himself. It’s an odd angle while standing. He can fit one finger in there, slowly, and it’s such a _weird_ sensation, like an intrusion but not really. He pulls his finger out and, _oh_, leaving feels weird too. 

Whatever. Sam’s a grown man. Never say that a Winchester balks from a challenge. And if he stands here and actually thinks about it too long, he’s going to chicken out. So he climbs onto the bed and spreads his legs, drizzling lube on Dean’s dick and suddenly apprehensive about how he’s going to fit that into himself. Dean solves this by grabbing his cock and pressing it right to Sam’s hole. He just holds it there, exerting slight pressure, and somehow the feeling of it is intense even though it shouldn’t be. Some inner slut in Sam lights up instantly. It’s so different from his own fingers because it’s _Dean’s dick_. He needs it in him. He can have Dean in him. _Dean_. The mental stimulation is tremendous fuel for the physical stimulation that rears up all of a sudden.

Sam cants back onto that hard and hot and wet pressure, letting it slowly slowly sink into him. Dean grabs the tube out of his hands and squeezes more, and runs his fingers around Sam’s rim as it stretches and helps feed his dick into Sam's greedy hole. Meanwhile, Sam’s headspace has devolved into depravity. He just wants Dean deeper. 

He’s still in his shirt and Dean shoves his hands under it to grope at his chest. Even seeing the movement under his shirt is erotic. He just sees the rise and fall of fabric and feels each fondle of his nipple go straight to his dick. Dean plays with him like he’s a girl, tugging on them until they’re hard and then flicking the hard caps of those buds. 

The word ‘shame’ leaves Sam’s vocabulary; he bounces on Dean’s dick enthusiastically like the world’s happiest cheerleader. He can hear and feel Dean’s thighs slapping the tight curve of his ass. His own cock bobs in front of him and Dean grabs it, jerks it so that Sam’s caught between the twin stimulations. When Dean’s dick withdraws, he presses into the grip around his own cock. When he sinks down, Dean’s dick pushes against his prostate and makes him moan like a total whore. 

The thing is— Sam can be quiet. Unlike Dean, he’s usually discreet about getting off, but when he first whimpers, he gets an answering groan from Dean, and when his voice accidentally hits a pitch at least an octave higher than his usual tone, Dean goes _feral_, grabbing Sam’s slim hips and pounding into him. Sam grabs onto Dean’s shoulders and throws his head back to show the pale column of his neck to ride the sensation of Dean’s brutality. He spreads his legs further, trying to let Dean piston into him deeper, dripping all over Dean’s stomach while he gets fucked within an inch of his life. And he tries _not _to be quiet. He lets himself make all the noises that he wants to because his big brother clearly likes to hear them. 

Dean thrusts into him harder when he calls his name. He starts to say things like _baby that’s right baby just like that, you like that?_ and for a moment Sam wants to laugh because it’s such shitty porno talk, except then Dean growls _baby brother_ and it goes straight to the fire in his crotch. 

Sam pants, “Yes, yes, please, Dean, fuck me, please, I want it… _Dean_! Give it to me–”

And if there’s some psychoanalysis available for how Sam likes to be reminded that he’s Dean’s little brother, and how Dean wants to be able to look after Sam and give Sam what he needs— Sam’s got Dean’s dick in him. Freud can wait. 

Dean comes in a gush. Sam can _feel_ the cock pulsing in his ass and knows that means Dean’s coming in him, filling him up, flooding him with his come. Dean doesn’t even _stop_. He keeps going. He surges upright, mouthing at the underside of Sam’s jaw, biting and marking him all over. His grip on Sam’s hips is like iron. Sam’s held there, used for Dean and his unending sex drive, loving it. 

*

Sammy is perfect. 

This is well-established fact, of course, but with his tight ass wrapped around Dean’s dick, Dean would just like to reiterate this. 

His dick’s as hard as rebar and refuses to go down. When unattended, it starts to hurt, from the tip of his cock like frostbite and then down, and it grips his mind with fever until he swears he can physically _feel_ the poison thudding in his veins. Jerking it staves it off some, but the real way to stop it is to get inside Sammy. So Sammy’s a champ. Takes it like a total champ, too. 

Dean’s already dumped his load into Sam at least thrice, and Sam’s already spread a mess over Dean’s stomach, but he still rolls over obediently and pushes his hips out just _so_ to present his still-wet ass up towards Dean when he wants. It’s unfairly hot, the way Sam takes it so sweetly as if he’s reading Dean’s thoughts. 

They’ve been sleeping for not more than half an hour when Dean pushes himself into Sammy again. The relief is instant, like plunging into ice-cold water on a hot day, and is quickly followed by arousal when Sammy twitches slightly and then moans. Yeah. Dean wants more of those moans. He latches onto Sammy — big fuckin’ guy, but it’s hot how pliant he is. He _lets_ Dean just put his dick into him. He lets Dean slide a hand under his shirt and tease his nipples or play with his cock. He lets Dean just grope and feel up his muscles. Fuck, he can feel the power under Sam’s skin shift whenever Dean purposely presses into him deep. Can even feel the tiny vibrations of his moans and whimpers. 

“D’n,” he mumbles, because he’s _just waking up_. It turns Dean on like he can’t believe: fucking Sammy when he’s still sleeping, when he’s vulnerable and bleary. Sam letting him take advantage. 

Pretty soon Sam is biting the pillow and clutching onto the bedsheets as Dean rolls them over and hammers into him, full-body. That hunter lifestyle of his means that plunging his dick into Sam is easy like pushups and worth the ecstasy, the whole bed bouncing each time he slams his weight down into Sam. And this way he can reach deep, deep into Sammy’s supple ass — who could’ve known that his little brother was tighter than any girl he’d met? — and bury his face into Sam’s dumb hair while he does it. Sam whimpers as he’s fucked so hard he might as well leave a Sam-imprint against the bedsheet. 

Pretty soon he comes into Sam again and doesn’t even pull out. He sleeps like that, cock warmed by Sam, but he doesn’t sleep much, and when he dreams it’s even about sex, waking periodically because his dick _never goes down_. He just rolls his hips to press into Sam as though he can keep it always open for him with a perfectly Dean-shaped hole for him to ease into. Fucks him lazily until he comes and leaves another load in his little brother. 

When the morning comes, Dean’s dick is soft. He stares at it in bewilderment for a moment. He's back to normal? 

Sam isn’t in the bed. He’s in the bathroom, brushing his teeth and taking a shower or whatever. He thinks about Sam, thinks about Sam walking gingerly, or spreading his ass under the stream of water to try to wash out the mix of lube and come that Dean’s deposited into him, and _there you go_, his dick’s back with a vengeance. Perfect. 

Sammy really is a genius. He hadn’t locked the bathroom door. Dean slips in, where Sam is brushing his teeth at the vanity in only a shirt and even has the lube on the counter. 

Truly a genius. Truly Stanford material. 

Dean slots himself against Sam’s back and wets his fingers with lube. Sam’s watching him through the mirror and Dean gives him an affectionate nip to the neck. Even such a docile gesture gets a shiver through Sam and makes Dean wickedly pleased. His baby brother is so sensitive. Or maybe it’s just Dean. Maybe he’s made specifically to react to Dean. 

Sam rinses out his mouth and puts away his toothbrush while he’s riding Dean’s fingers and Dean’s wrapped around him like a molester. When he starts to really drill his fingers into Sam, Sam can only hold onto the edges of the sink, groaning and calling, “Dean, Dean, _ah_.” Dean rucks up Sam’s shirt and tugs on his nipples too, until they’re hard and rosy red. 

Sam comes when Dean kisses him. 

Which— okay. Fine. Dean’s supposed to be facing his own aphrodisiac, too. But clearly he just very enthusiastically finger-fucked his brother without getting himself off. Sam's not the only one starting to skirt plausible deniability here. 

So, to remedy that, he pushes himself into Sam’s still-loose ass and fucks him with full vigour immediately. Sam cries out and starts to whimper and beg for Dean to go _harder Dean harder please_ until the bathroom’s filled with the sound of their skin slapping together. In the mirror, Sam’s eyelids are fluttering open and shut, overstimulated since he just came and now Dean’s milking his prostate like there’s no tomorrow. His mouth his so pink and wet and damn irresistible that Dean kisses him again — devours him, more like, and pounds into him because he wants Sam to feel this for _days_. He wants Sam to wear a plug stuffed up with his come and lube so that Dean can take it out and fuck him anywhere and anytime he wants. He wants Sam to wear a skirt or tiny little shorts that he can just pull aside and take his brother in the Impala, out on the street, in someone's backyard, or in a bar or back alley. 

Dean feels that hunger, lets it rampage through him and lets it show in his eyes, and then clutches Sammy tight when he hits the edge and pumps his little brother full of come. 

His dick starts to soften when he withdraws. Sam must feel that. He reaches back, touches Dean just to confirm, and feels Dean’s mostly-soft cock jump in his hand. 

“Oh,” Sam says. “So it’s over?”

_Definitely_ some regret in his tone. 

Because Dean’s just that smug and because this is _his_ now, he slaps Sam’s ass. 

“Dean!” Sam yelps. He's blushing hard. Hilarious. 

“It’s mostly over,” Dean says, cocky as all hell. And then he smiles and nips Sam’s shoulder. “But you might needa to take care of it once a week. Or every few days. You know. If you want to.”

Yep– Sammy’s definitely smiling and trying to hide it behind his shaggy hair. Dean’s got this. 

**Author's Note:**

> ngl this is HIDEOUSLY unedited. I didn't even read it twice. It's just porn straight from the source, like crude oil. but porn. and crude.


End file.
